Anonymous

Blue Tango

Part One: Julie

Chapter One

Now the noise again, the moaning, the pleading in her voice. Is she pleading? I can't imagine it. I lie here bereft. In the darkness. No, the room is not dark, the room is grey. The moonlight filters through the window, through the windowpanes, the curtains, the grey moonlight hanging like a cloud over the shapes in the room. Is that my hat? Yes, of course it's the large hat I wore on Wednesday, the pale green hat that looked so pretty in the park. Everyone liked it. They smiled at me. Oh, they didn't smile, don't be silly. You're acting like a twit, darling. It's the moaning. She hasn't stopped. It goes on and on. I want to drum on the walls. I shall beg her to stop it. I won't allow it. Well, you can't do much about allowing things, can you? You ought to sleep, darling. It's a beastly hour and you ought to sleep. And her? Please God let me sleep. I can't bear it, I really can't bear it.

I suppose it's possible for me to keep myself in a state of utter immobility. I shall lie here like a mummy while she moans in the next room. I shall lie here with my hands upon my breasts. Holding my breasts. I must hold my breasts or I shall certainly go mad. How strange it is to hear the sound of it. Or perhaps it's not strange at all. I ought to consider the nature of things, the proper aspects. In any case, I thought this room would be lovely and it's not lovely at all. Lovely in the day and not lovely at night. Not lovely to have her beyond that wall. Thank God the bed is not against that wall. But I ought to have it there because of the window. I don't like a bed near a window and that's where I have the bed now. No, it's not where I have the bed, it's where the bed was situated when I was given the room. Darling, you don't want the bed moved. You can't possibly want the bed against that wall. That's completely out of the question, completely impossible.

And Edward? Not a sound to betray his presence. He's there of course. One can't help the imagining. No sound but the sound of Claire, yet Edward is certainly there. In connubial extension. The wet coupling. Really, darling. How does he hold her? You shouldn't, you really shouldn't. But of course it's not possible to do otherwise. I can't lie here like a stone. I am not a stone. I imagine she lies on her back with her legs raised. She's quite limber. She rides well. She dances well. She does everything well. Now Edward is riding her. Like Sir Lancelot with his sturdy lance thrusting in and out of the quick. His cock in her nest. I wonder if it's dark in there. I wonder if they fancy the electric lamp. Claire might but I'm sure Edward wouldn't. Edward is much too modest. He would have his thrusting in the dark. Nothing to see. Everything to hear and nothing to see. Softly now. The moaning is soft again. The sounds of pleasure in Claire's throat. My hands upon my breasts. The fullness of my breasts. My nipples. The grey fog of moonlight in a darkened room.

“Did you sleep well?”

Claire is so sparkling in the morning, so fresh and perfect. We sit at the breakfast table, Edward between Claire and myself, the servants gliding around us, the April sunlight vibrating through the glass of the French window. Claire and Edward and myself.

“Yes, quite well, thank you.”

“And your room? Do you like your room, Julie?”